his rural Amusement, till he accosted the thoughtful Shepherd thus.

If you are the _Cubbin_, said he, I enquire for, as by the Peculiarity
of your Countenance, and the Firmness of your Look, you seem, young
Boy, to be; I would hold some Discourse with you. The Pastorals of your
Performance I have seen; and tho' I will not call 'em Perfect, I think
they show a Genius not wholly to be overlookt. My Name, continued he, is
Sophy, nor is it unknown in the World. In this Book (and here he pluckt
it out of his Pocket) I have pen'd some Rules for your future Guidance.

_Cubbin_ was strangely taken with the mild Address and Sweetness of
Sophy. A thousand times he thanked him, as often smil'd upon him, and
spread his Coat for him to set more soft upon the Sands.

Sophy was a true-born _Britton_, and admir'd a forward _Spirit_. The
_French_ he little loved; Their Poets dare not (said he) think without
the Ancients, and their Criticks make use of their Eyes instead of their
Understandings. 'Twas his way to pardon, nay admire a Critick, who
for every fifty Errors would give him but one Remark of Use, or good
Discovery. But always read one Sheet, then burnt those dull insipid
Rogues, who thought that to write a good was to write a faultless Piece.
By which means their whole Work becomes one general Fault.

This Censure, I fear, would fall pretty heavy on the [A]_Criticks_ of
_France_; if this were a proper Place to persue the Argument in. But
Sophy thus resum'd his Talk.

[Footnote A: _In the Preface to the Second Part of our_ Pastorals,
_viz._ THE BASHFUL-SWAIN, _and_ BEAUTY AND SIMPLICITY, _we have shown
to what Perfection the whole Science of_ CRITICISM _was brought by the